


A Gift for Generosity

by FandomN00b



Series: Gifts and Prompts [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Courtship, F/F, Fluff, Post-DA2, da2 endgame canon divergence, merrill pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: Merrill goes shopping in Denerim for something to give to her vhenan.
Relationships: Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Series: Gifts and Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636435
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	A Gift for Generosity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt from [eranehn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eranehn/pseuds/Eranehn) (who graciously broke me out of my writer's block today ❤️), and it's sort of a follow-up to [Soft and Warm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602388), a drabble I wrote for a gift exchange that became my favoritest thing I've ever written.

What do you give to a goddess, to the embodiment of Generosity herself, to prove that you are worthy of her bond?

 _Your heart_ is not enough. 

Well, perhaps it is. But that's just too simple, isn't it? 

It's not enough for what Merrill intends, anyhow. She stands at the edge of the Market District, looking across the street at the trinket shops and she wonders how she could even begin to decide on a courtship gift for her vhenan.

The Way of the Arrow? She _is_ sure. For the first time in her life, she is sure about the way she feels about someone. About where she belongs.

Or perhaps the Way of the Bow -- their love has certainly been bent in many directions, through filthy winding alleyways and feces-filled caverns, past overzealous Templars and cruel slavers and cursed corpses and shades...and it has only grown stronger.

But _her_ vhenan prefers daggers, anyway. Sharp, pointy, slicing things. The glint of thin steel cutting swift, beautiful arcs through the air with perfect precision.

Merrill sighs as she eyes the weapons stalls. She doesn’t suppose Isabela needs any more daggers.

The Way of the Forest, then…? 

Oh, sod off, Andruil! _Her_ love belongs to the sea...free and wild and endlessly lapping at sun-drenched horizons.

She sheepishly eyes a huntress figurine carved from sacred wood cut down before its time. An “authentic Dalish good luck charm” its vendor claims. This makes her feel only a little bit guilty.

Maybe she should make something herself? She begins to begrudgingly recite a prayer to June but stops midway through…she’s never been very good at arts and crafts, either. At least not the kind you might give as a gift to someone you love.

Merrill's fists are clenched tight as she tries to concentrate, to think past the clumsiness of courtship as she’s always known it...never _known_ it...only seen it. Performed. Enacted. Smiled upon by Sylaise. Blessed by those who refused to give her their blessing. Never quite belonging. Not to any of _them_ the way she knows she belongs with _her_.

So why is this so _hard_?! She knows she needs no other blessing than that which comes from Isabela’s lips.

And yet...her fingernails dig into her palms in frustration. And Isabela is not there to pry them apart, to smooth over the stings and the scars, and oh no...it's happening again, isn’t it?

A drop of her own blood falls, and then another hits the cobblestones below with a tiny _plop_ and billows up around her ankles in red-black smoke, whispering to her words she already knows by heart.

She must not draw attention. She's meant to have been blown up back in Kirkwall with Anders and the rest of them. Not that anyone would be looking for _her_ , in particular. But still, Fenris would be very cross with her if anyone noticed her accidentally using blood magic in the middle of the Market District in Denerim. Even if the spirits she summoned _were_ probably very good at suggesting gifts that would please her lover.

“Go away!” Merrill mutters, forcing her own hands open, and wiping the rest of the blood that has pooled in her palms onto her dark green tunic. “I have to do this on my own…”

Something shiny catches the sun’s rays and blinks in the corner of her eye. Not quite as shiny as the sunrise in her heart's eyes. But it's just bright enough to keep her from murmuring any more curses to the Evanuris or accidentally calling forth any demons here in the street.

It's a tiny boat. No, a _ship_. And someone has trapped it inside a glass bottle, which doesn’t seem right, but she supposes it makes it easier for transport. She lifts it up and inspects it through the glass, surprised that she senses no magic in its intricate construction. It looks quite a bit like the _Apostate’s Whore_ , not that Merrill knows too many other ships. There was the one she took with her clan from Ferelden, a truly horrible journey, and some like to say that Dalish aravels resemble boats, except that they move across the land. But this one definitely reminds her more of Isabela than either of those things. 

“Like what you see, m’lady?” The merchant grins as she continues to look for an opening in the bottle big enough for the ship to pass through.

“How do you get it out?”

“Most people ask how we get them _in_ …” he chuckles condescendingly.

“Oh.”

He leans toward her, with one eyebrow raised, and whispers in what Merrill imagines he believes to be a sly sort of tone, “Telling you would ruin the magic, see?”

“But you didn’t use any magic…”

“And how do you know _that_?” His leer turns into a sneer, just as Merrill realizes her mistake.

“Oh, I don’t!” she answers brightly. _Too_ brightly, she worries. When the man just continues glaring suspiciously at her, she asks, “So magic? That’s how it works?” and attempts to open her eyes wide with the appropriate amount of awe.

He shakes his head at her, shaking off a bit of the danger in his eyes, too, to Merrill’s relief. “You gonna buy it, or just waste my time with stupid questions?”

Merrill shoves a handful of coins at him and leaves before he can even count how much she’s given him.

“Hey! Wait!” he calls after her. “Do you want your change or not?!”

She doesn’t answer. She tucks the trinket under her arm, and practically runs back to the Pearl. Was it a left at the statue of the Hero of Ferelden? Or north? She takes a right and hopes that she can trust her instincts enough to do the exact opposite of them and find her way back before attracting any more attention.

When she gets there, after only a few dead-ends and turn-arounds, she wraps the silly thing in several layers of clothing to protect it from her own clumsiness and lets it live in the bottom of her pack for now. Until she’s feeling brave again. 

It’s not enough. She knows nothing could ever be, because Generosity demands nothing. But Merrill can’t _give_ nothing. So it’s something.


End file.
